


A Matter of Perspective

by Trovia



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Humor, Apocalypse, Bonding, Episode: s03e20 Crossroads (2), Friendship, Gen, M/M, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:59:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trovia/pseuds/Trovia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Machines are people now, terrorists are politicians, and even their leader doesn’t seem to know if she’s a president or a priestess or both. If Gaeta perjures himself, the FTL drive must stop working soon, too, and dead people might come back to life. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>No, wait. That last one has already happened.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to ebuchala for the beta!

Dee finds Gaeta sitting at a corner table at Joe’s, glass of ambrosia in front of him, cigarette butt dangling between his fingers. People seem to be avoiding him, and she can’t say she’s surprised. Everybody has figured out by now that Gaeta has perjured himself. He must have. The Old Man was on that jury, and why else would he allow Baltar to live? 

It’s not that Dee cares if Gaeta lied or not, personally, and she hasn’t asked him about it. Either he lied, or he would have. And what does it matter anyway? It was fake proof but it was still true. That’s why she moved back to the duty lockers, and it’s why she’s back to meeting with friends instead of wasting more time with a man who never loved her, anyway.

When she sits down, Gaeta follows the direction of her eyes to a group of Ensigns passing by, busy not noticing him so they don’t have to greet him. One nods at Dee though. Dee glares at him.

“It’s funny,” Gaeta says. “Because all of this has happened before.” She gives him a skeptical look and he chuckles, placing the cigarette in the ashtray to pick up the bottle, pouring himself a gracious amount. “The election fraud,” he explains. “It’s all the same again. I went to New Caprica because of that. 

“Cheers,” he adds and downs the shot, grimacing. 

Dee smirks. Not about the election fraud because that was a long time ago, it’s not important anymore. It’s this. It isn’t fair but then again, life rarely is. Everybody else would be regarded a hero for that stint at the trial, but not Gaeta. Gaeta is supposed to be the guy who’s always called reveille and who will always call reveille (except for one year, and everything went to hell then), who shaves on his break between double shifts, always, and who still remembers protocol. 

If there’s anything normal left about their lives, Gaeta is it. If Gaeta perjures himself, the world must be turning upside down even more. Machines are people now, terrorists are politicians, and even their leader doesn’t seem to know if she’s a president or a priestess or both. If Gaeta perjures himself, the FTL drive must stop working soon, too, and dead people might come back to life. 

No, wait. That last one has already happened.

It’s not Dee’s problem though, none of it is, neither Starbuck being not dead nor people being superstitious about it. Dee isn’t fazed by seeing that the world is falling apart. Remembering Billy Keikeya choking on his own blood, she must say she already knows. 

“I split up with Lee,” she says, in case Gaeta hasn’t already heard. He just glances at her, busy shoving his glass over, pouring her a shot. She nods him a thanks. “I moved out right away. I’m glad I did it before he made his testimony,” she adds bitterly, fingering the glass. 

Gaeta tilts his head. “You say that like you’d say ‘before he wet his pants’,” he states and she giggles, maybe just a little bit hysterical because it still hits her, unexpectedly, that she’s getting a divorce. It’s over, finally, and the only thing she regrets about it is that she won’t be a part of the Old Man’s family anymore.

“Cheers,” she says, still giggling, and downs her shot, ambrosia burning in her throat.

People are talking everywhere, and there’s cheesy music playing on the wireless. Joe’s is packed tonight, Dee notices, more people filling in by the minute, and it’s strange. If people weren’t wary of Gaeta, the two of them wouldn’t have a table for themselves. If that hit squad hadn’t tried to kill him after New Caprica, Connor wouldn’t save his best ambrosia for him. That’s also a sign of the world turning upside down but for a change, it’s one she approves.

“You’re a great friend to have,” she declares, and Gaeta’s lips twitch. 

“I think you need to drink more,” he says but he says it softly, thankfully and she thinks she has to say this more often.

Gaeta is scanning the crowd, and she tries to make out who he’s looking for, pleased to see that neither Lee nor Kara Thrace are anywhere in sight. Sam Anders is, talking to Helo at the counter, but that’s alright. Dee has decided a long time ago that she likes Anders, no matter she hasn’t ever spoken to him.

Dee tilts her head, taking in the sight of the two guys who’ve never been hard on the eye. It’s a pretty picture and she expects Gaeta to comment on it but he doesn’t. He’s filling the glass again, a strange show of extravagance, considering how rare good ambrosia has become.

“Anyway,” he says. “I hear Starbuck is back on duty as of tomorrow.” He says it like it doesn’t matter, and Dee gives him a long look. 

“I’m surprised you aren’t bothered by her more,” she says, accepting another shot. “Then again, I guess we might still be lucky and she could be a Cylon.” And not a Cylon like Sharon, but an evil one, too. It’s a nasty thing to wish for but on some level, Dee doesn’t mind.

Gaeta shrugs. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, contemplating his cigarettes but not moving to light a new one. The last has died in the ashtray. Really looking at him for the first time, she suddenly notices that he looks flushed, excited maybe. Suspiciously, Dee narrows her eyes. “How drunk are you, really?”

She’s not sure she likes the way he chuckles. “Not a lot I hope because I have plans for tonight, if you must know,” he says, leaning closer conspiratorially. “Because I, Lieutenant Dualla, had a revelation just this morning.”

“Do tell, Mr. Gaeta,” she says warily. 

“Thing is this,” Gaeta says. “I know you know all about how life can suck, so I won’t insult you by explaining to you. But, you know that point when all these things have happened, and you think, okay, you’re really sure by now that it isn’t all your fault because you can’t _possibly_ be that bad of a person to deserve it all?” He waits for her to nod and she does, because boy, does she ever. “Well,” Gaeta continues, sagely. “That’s actually a very good state to be in.”

“You’re drunk,” Dee states in amazement. “You’re totally _smashed_.”

Gaeta grins cheerfully. “Not at all. I just know that it can’t possibly get any worse. Nothing I do myself can ever result in something like…” He gestures, including all the bar. Two deckhands seem to think that he’s addressing them, scampering away. “…this.”

Realization dawns. “You’re planning something,” Dee accuses him. “I know that look! You had that look when you got your first tattoo! And when you suddenly took leave and came back with wings!” And that had been a betrayal to the whole CIC, too because, _wings_. CIC officers just didn’t get wings.

There’s an evil twinkle in his eyes now. “And what a good idea that was,” Gaeta says with satisfaction. “Easy as pie. Everybody should get wings. But, no. It’s better. Because it can’t possibly get any worse, see? That means theoretically, I can stop worrying now, right? No nerves. No fear. Observe.” He’s getting up. “Enjoy the ambrosia. I have places to be.”

Not sure if she should be worried or just confused, Dee looks after him. Gaeta is walking through the bar, straightening his uniform. He’s looking an endearing kind of determined; another sight she hasn’t seen in a while. And he’s walking through the bar, passing Helo and Anders, towards… whoa. Dee blinks. 

_Whoa._

Hoshi has dissolved from a group of deckhands in a corner, laughing at something and aiming for the door. He turns around when Gaeta shows up beside him, leaning closer to understand what he’s saying through the noise. 

And here she thought that Gaeta wouldn’t _ever_ dare. 

Dee slumps back into her chair, giggling. She wonders if Gaeta used that really dorky line he claimed always works with guys or if he tried and came up with something nice. It’s not that it matters, of course. Even Gaeta reading Hoshi fuel reports would make Hoshi beam. Like he is now. 

Actually, if she’s reading that right, Hoshi is blushing.

_Hah._

Lips twitching, Dee reaches for the bottle.

She makes a bet with herself that the two of them will have left the bar within the next five minutes. 

Afterwards, she might invite Anders for a drink. He might even get the joke.


End file.
